


Of Many Paths To Tread

by HyJackedYerFandom



Series: The Veiled Paths [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyJackedYerFandom/pseuds/HyJackedYerFandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>4/14/2014  - Correcting a few things and one major point.  I bet you didn't even notice heh.  Onward, into the breach.</p></blockquote>





	Of Many Paths To Tread

Soft, cool hands caressed his heated skin in gentle strokes, smoothing what felt like a simple damp cloth across his forehead. He tried to turn into the caress but found he couldn’t move – at all. He found he could wiggle his toes and fingers, but moving whole limbs or even his face or head was next to impossible.

Quiet sounds of movement to his left caught his attention – the sound of water falling upon water; the shifting of skin on fabric; the soft breathing of a person; the crackle of a nearby fire; and oddly, the sound of metal links hitting stone. When he fought to open his eyes however, those cool hands returned with their damp cloth, slender fingers ghosting over his face, over the wrinkles he’d made struggling to open his eyes.

“ _Ahh…so the_ Savage Elf _Lord_ awakes!” Came a sneering voice to his left. “ _Keep_ tending _to him_ , brat! Don’t _want to_ ruin _the merchandise_.”

“ _Telmun_ , are _you sure_ we _oughta_ let _them_ two near _each other_ …”

“ _We got the_ other chained _too far to_ reach _– it’s fine_. I _ain’t gunna tend him_ , are you?”

“No _but_ -“

“ _It’s_ fine, I _says_! Let _the_ brat tend _to_ him…not _like he_ can do _much more_ harm, can he?” A snide cackle followed this.

Laying there, barely able to think straight through the pain radiating from his head down to his left leg, he had little idea of what exactly was going on. Instead, he concentrated on the cool fingertips ghosting across his face, the gentle weight he could feel against his right arm and side. But it hurt to concentrate, it was agony to think. Distantly, he heard footsteps walking away, the snide comments going with them.

After a moment of silence, he heard the sound of metal clinking against metal and stone and a familiar voice whispered out.

“Elladan?”

He struggled to open his mouth to reply, and the body next to him turned – he could tell by the way that the body brushed and rubbed against the tattered material of his tunic sleeve.

“Don’t speak, brother. You’re very ill.” Came his younger twin’s voice, and it sounded a good distance away. “You took a blow to the head, the...boy removed two arrows and stitched up the gash in your leg. You have a fever from the looks of it, too but he seems to be taking good care of you…”

“W…wha…” He struggled to ask what happened but it just came out a croak.

“We were attacked by slavers.” Elrohir replied to the unspoken question. “We’re their prisoners until you’re healthy and we can be sold, I think.”

Elladan could barely nod, but smacked his lips, grimacing with the thick, slimy feel of the spit in his mouth. Again, he felt the body next to him move – he figured whoever it was, was glancing between the two brothers before facing Elrohir’s direction.  There was the sound of chain links tinkling together repeatedly, and then there was Elrohir’s voice.

“Rest, big brother… let the boy take care of you until you’re well again.”

He had little in the way of argument for that. So he simply relaxed into the thin padding of the worn mattress beneath him. The gentle, cool sensation of those long fingers on his skin never stopped, never faded. It passed across his facial features with soothing strokes that lulled him into a relaxed state of dozing before he fell over the precipice of sleep.

 

Elrohir kept an eye on the boy that was tending to his brother. He was a strange creature with thick, curly black hair that was matted and tangled around his shoulder blades and back. From what he could see from the dirt and the grime, not to mention the bruises and marks of obvious ‘disciplinary actions’ of slavery, his skin once had been pale. The boy only wore what looked like a wolf skin loincloth and a fur cloak that was currently being used to cover Elladan in an effort to beat the fever rolling through the injured elf.

When he’d woken up to this new terror, he’d been groggy and dazed from his own wounds. He had a clear memory of the brief but violent battle trying to deliver a trading treaty to Moria. Men, speaking a tongue he couldn’t quite understand clearly, had ambushed them on the trail, and though he and Elladan had fought bravely and hard, they fell under sheer numbers and weapons.

He’d woken to find himself sharing a cell with a boy who had an iron collar around his throat that was chained to the wall across from him and shackles on his ankles and wrists though they weren’t actually chained to anything, the chains dragged on the floor. There was a man with thick black hair, with a shorter chain to his collar who sat pressed into the corner of the cell. His clothes were relatively the same as the boy’s with the exception that he had his furred cloak on him, and he wore what looked like furred leggings. Neither wore any boots or foot protectors.

Beside the man, though, lay one of the largest wolf he’d seen. He knew the further north that they travelled, the larger the animals and wildlife became, but the sheer size of the beast made him gape in amazement. If the wolf stood on all fours, the beast would meet Elrohir’s shoulders. The wolf was also chained with a collar around its throat and a link leading to the wall. The dirt and grime did little to take away the knowledge that the fur on the wolf was an almost crystalline white, however. The wolf simply lay near the boy, who knelt by the bed where his injured brother lay.

He knew, without looking hard, that his brother was in a bad way. The flush of his elder twins cheeks was an obvious sign of fever, and Elrohir could see a bandage wrapped around Elladan’s forehead with a stain at his temple. After taking inventory of his own injuries, he’d found them tended and bandaged with precision. He could only assume that the boy had done it as he seemed to have a freer reign of the cell they were in.

It was shortly after that that his brother had regained a modicum of consciousness and the men who’d captured them had taunted Elladan with a strange mixture of Common and that strange language he’d heard earlier. He hated not knowing what was said, despite the fact that he knew it wasn’t wise to rise to the taunts. The boy had been beside Elladan, with a stack of cloths and a wooden bowl filled with water. He’d watched as the boy kept cleaning the sweat from his twin’s face, long, pale fingers mapping over the familiar face.

After he’d coaxed his brother back to sleep, he examined the boy again. It was then that the man in the corner spoke.

“Elf.”

Startled, Elrohir looked over and stared at the dark haired man. It had been Elvish, but it had had an accent that didn’t sound familiar to his ears. He took a moment before nodding.

“Yes. I’m an elf.”

“You…lost?” The man asked in hesitant elvish.

“No. Captured.” Elrohir decided to keep his answer’s short, considering it was obvious that the man had little experience with Elvish.

“Ahh. Same.” The man motioned to himself, the boy and the wolf. “Hunting. Surprise.”

“Ambush.” Elrohir corrected.

“Ambush?” The man replied with a tilt to his head.

“Surprised you. It’s called an ambush.”

“Ahh. Ambush.” The man nodded sagely and then pushed his dirty, tangled hair behind his ears.

His pointed ears.

“You’re an elf!” Elrohir said in astonishment.

“Yes. Not before.”

That confused him. Elrohir frowned at him and the other man- elf – shrugged as much as he was able to.

“Too little words.”

“Ah…” Which was equally confusing.

He was an elf, so he should know the language…unless he’d simply been on his own for so long that he’d not spoken Elvish in years?  However, the phrase ‘not before’ implied that he’d not been an elf before. One did not just become an elf like a change in the weather. They were born, not made.

None of this made any sense to them.

“What are you called?” Elrohir asked the man, and frowned when he did nothing but cock his head to the side.  “What are your names?  I am Elrohir, my brother is Elladan.”

“Ahh.  I am said Limdur, the boy, he is now said Aemornion.” The man said, with a nod to the boy.

“And the wolf?” Elrohir asked, jutting his chin out at the beast who simply rolled over and continued his watch over the boy.

“Wolf? He is said Thandoin.” Limdur said with a warm smile. “Thandoin watches over Aemornion and I, like mother over pup.”

The wolf huffed and rolled a brilliant blue eye at Limdur before turning his attention back to the boy.

“You said Aemornion is now called Aemornion. It is not his first name??” Elrohir asked.

“No. He was said by another once. But not answer now.” Limdur said in his halting Elvish. He looked at the elf chained beside him and Elrohir could see a world of disappointment and misery in the gaze. “He forgets, then. Better for him. Pain, misery, hate back then.”

“Oh.” Elrohir spent a moment attempting to untangle the broken elvish into something he could understand.

Aemornion was called by another name once, but he has discarded it for whatever reasons. Apparently, he refuses to answer by it, in an attempt to live a different life, one where the previous name caused nothing but hardships and pain. Elrohir nodded slightly, settling that thought into his brain.

“How long have you been here?” Elrohir asked.

“Long, long. Many suns and moons. Aemornion has four years of birth! I only have three yet.” Limdur replied, turning to watch Aemornion and completely missing the look of astonishment on Elrohir’s face.

Four years, by that explanation, he supposed. Four years under the rule of these slavers! He couldn’t imagine the sheer agony they’d gone through at the hands of these foul Men.

“But,” Limdur interrupted his thoughts, drawing Elrohir’s attention to him again. “Now have two more sets of hands. We can run. Safe place, alone. Too dangerous, if not known the path.”

“Elladan is too ill-“

“Aemornion, he heals fast. He heal brother quick, yes quick. Soon, then, we run and hide. Then, go home.” Limdur said, a stern look in his eyes as he looked at Elrohir, a frown on his face. “Yes?”

After a moment, Elrohir nodded. “Yes. We’ll go home after.”

“Good.” Limdur said with a grin. “Should rest. Food comes later. Once a sun and once a moon. Not time yet.”

Elrohir nodded and watched as Limdur simply closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall as if it were the most comfortable place to rest in the world. After a moment, Elrohir turned and watched the boy – Aemornion – continue to tend his brother. All he could see was the lean, thin, pale back of the boy, shadowed by the matted, long dark hair, and the thin, pale fingertips that danced across Elladan’s face.

He could almost feel the faint echo through the bond that they shared as twins, on his own face, and sighed. Closing his eyes, he attempted to relax in his chains. It sounded as if Limdur had a plan, one to get them all out of the pit they were in. And it also sounded as if he had a place for them to go in order to heal a bit more before going home. From the way that Limdur had stressed the going home part of that statement, it seemed that all of them would be going to Imladris, which wasn’t a problem. They were all Elves, and they needed to stick together. It amazed him that the two elves had managed four years alone with the Men who captured and obviously tormented them.

He could hardly believe that the elfling – for surely the boy could barely be over puberty – was as gentle as he was considering the company he’d been keeping.  The wolf was an interesting aspect of this little grouping, and he wondered how that had occurred.  Either way, if the wolf would protect Aemornion, then surely it was some part domesticated. 

Elrohir was completely at sea with the whole situation.  It was foreign and difficult and seemingly impossible to figure out, let alone to escape from.  As his mind tried to figure out a way to understand and strategize, he began to fall into a light slumber.

Distantly, just before he fell over the edge into oblivion, he heard a soft humming tune – soothing, comforting and gentle.  It alleviated his worry, and eased him deep into slumber.

 

_Cool hands caressed his face, fingertips mapping across his features gently, so gently.  He struggled to open his eyes but found them so heavy.  He was so tired.  All he knew was that he no longer ached with pain, but he burned in fever.  He couldn’t concentrate on anything long enough to get his bearings._

_“Shhh…”  Came the soothing voice to his right, and a damp cloth settled across his forehead.  “Rest now, yes?  Food here soon…  Wake then…”_

_The voice was whisper soft, gentle and quiet.  He wanted to hear more of it; it calmed him in his fever dreams.  Struggling even more to wake up, he stilled his fretful movements when the voice began to hum a foreign, but familiar lullaby to him.  He lay there, under the care of this elf-child and let himself be soothed.  And dreamt of a life at home with wolves playing in the fallen autumn leaves and a beautiful laugh filling their glade._

**Author's Note:**

> 4/14/2014 - Correcting a few things and one major point. I bet you didn't even notice heh. Onward, into the breach.


End file.
